Ojos azules hermosos

And other stories. Or, in reality, the same story, just recycled and reshuffled a little. The beautiful blue eyes belonged to a boy of 10 or 11 on a bus in town at lunchtime, a delicate shade of pale blue, the nicest eyes I've seen for the best part of some time. He was the preface to a veritable spate of cuties, mostly blond, coincidentally, who ghosted in and out of my life over the following couple of hours. But the denouement remains the same as ever, me on my own in my local, writing about those on the other side of the impenetrable glass wall that divides me from my heart's desire. The cruelty, to paraphrase Nineteen Eighty-Four, isn't that the torture continues, but that I can't force myself into the permanent unconsciousness that would bring it to an end.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B